Chapter GAZETTE to Evens of Index by Grocott's Quotations - Alpha

GAZETTE to Evens

GAZETTE.—Let it be booked with the rest of this day’s deeds; or, I swear, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top of it.

Shakespeare.—King Henry IV. Part II. Act IV. Scene 3. (Falstaff to Prince John on having taken Coleville prisoner.)

They have not done me justice; but never mind, I’ll have a gazette of my own.

Lord Nelson.—See his Life.

[A gazet, says Coryat, page 286, “is almost a penny; whereof ten make a liver, that is, ninepence.” Newspapers being originally sold for that piece of money, acquired their present name of Gazettes. See Junius’s Etymol. voce Gazette.

Dodsley.—Note to the Antiquary, in Vol. X. Part 64, of his collection of old Plays. Whalley says, Gazette is a small Venetian coin, worth about three farthings. Gifford’s ed. of Ben Jonson’s Plays, Vol. III. Volpone, Page 217.]

GEESE.—The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school.

Goldsmith.—Deserted Village, Line 119.

GEM.—In wall and roof and pavement scattered are
Full many a pearl, full many a costly stone.

Ariosto.—Orlando Furioso, Canto XXXIII. Stanza 105.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom’d caves of Ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Gray.—Elegy, Verse 14.

GENIUS.—One science only will one genius fit;
So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

Pope.—On Criticism, Part I. Line 60.

Genius must be born, and never can be taught.

Dryden.—Epistle X. to Congreve.

Poeta nascitur non fit.

Florus.—“The poet is born, not made.” See Ben Jonson’s comedy of “Every Man in his Humour,” (Gifford’s edition,) Act V. Scene last. L

GENTLEMAN.—When Adam dolve and Eve span, Who was then a Gentleman?

Pegge.—Curialia Miscellanea, 173.

GEOGRAPHY.—As she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries.

Sheridan.—The Rivals, Act I. Scene 2.

GIBES.—Here hung those lips that I have kiss’d I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen?